Editor’s Note: As much as Douglas Farmer has enjoyed writing for Down to the
Basement, and he insists he truly has, this will be his final column for the website for the foreseeable future. In order to appear dedicated to his tasks at an upcoming internship, and possibly attain a job, he will solely be writing for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette as of June.
To quote Farmer, “The Basement did more for me than I could have done for it. I needed to keep my writing fresh, stay in the habit, but had no venue in which to do so. Thus, thank you to the Basement editors for allowing me this freedom.”
Fitting your entire life into the back of a pickup truck can be a daunting, self-realizing task. Suddenly keeping a basketball seems rather trivial, as it could not fit more awkwardly amidst the clothing, books and legitimate keepsakes. Now, worry not, the basketball was kept, but it was a close call — another can be found without too much trouble, after all.
College students face the decision of what books mark themselves worthy of being kept, dragged home and stored. Others warrant a donation to some library collection. Rare tormentors meet the penalty of flame. Presumably, all these reading companions stem from academic pursuits.
Not for the sports fan with a nose for the literary. Very quickly, books regarding sports, in some way, shape or form, out-populate the texts required for classes.
So what is it about sports books, and their readers, which leads to such collections? Do not think this is confusion. Obviously other genres tally large numbers as well — science fiction, historical and novels leap to mind as prime examples — but those books do not travel with the reader in such high numbers.
Look at the fans of John Grisham, myself included: His books do not go wherever we do. Instead, they remain on the shelves of my parents’ house, or tucked away in a box in a closet.
But not my sports books. No, those traveled with me each year back to school, and each summer back home. Now, they will likely head to Pittsburgh with me. I have never had much space in my dorm rooms or in my truck, and that is not about to change, so why fight this losing battle of lugging hardcover autobiographies of Joe DiMaggio and George Steinbrenner?
Well, why do we watch sports? It would make sense, in theory, we read about these figures and games for the same reasons.
We watch (and read) for the emotions. Any given game could elicit the entire spectrum of human emotions. The beauty of raw feeling is revealed in each and every contest.
We watch for the competition. Yes, it is the competition which sparks the emotions, but these are two separate entities. It is the competition that will show which player or team is superior, or inferior. A definitive measuring stick is very hard to come by in everyday life, so its existence anywhere brings marvel.
We watch for the camaraderie. Within any team, relationships form. These consistent displays of trust and love restore our faith in mankind, allowing us to forget for a moment the troubles surrounding us, from Greece’s economic shambles to Iran’s ghost-like nuclear program to Wisconsin’s bitter gubernatorial recall.
We read for these same reasons, reasons which are as real as the characters who spark them. The beautiful disbelief enwrapping the Milan Miracle (The Greatest Basketball Story Ever Told by Greg Guffey), the hatred within the Notre Dame-Miami rivalry of the 80s (Perfect Rivals, Jeff Carroll) and the magnificent prose of Jim Murray (The Last of the Best, Murray) force us to consider humanity and mankind in much the same way The Brothers Karamazov and Don Quixote do. The former set, though, does not necessitate three months of reading and six more of analysis.
Obviously, such characteristics bring great value. Reminding ourselves of man’s failing helps us avoid
it. Reminding ourselves of man’s capabilities encourages us to approach them. Reminding ourselves of man’s successes inspires us to top them.
Those seem like good enough reasons to need to deflate the basketball in order for it to fit in the back of my truck.
Comments
Powered by Facebook Comments